Under the street lamp
by The French Orchid
Summary: The apology came 19 year to late, but there it was none the less.  I changed the rating because I'm paranoid, and he's a bully.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey Every one. This is just something I cameing up eith of my english class. I was thinking about Hermione as I wrote it so..**

**I do not own Harry Potter. If I did I would be a very rich women in the U.K.**

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><p>Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Her buckle shoes rang out into the night as she hurried down the stone steps to get out of the rain. She held her books closer to her as her look up at the street lamp.<p>

The light illuminated her face making it glow. Dark wet curls frizzed as they framed her heart-shaped face. Her lashes, lips and rosy cheeks shined as they reflected the light. Her brows ferried as she glanced at the sky. Biting her lip, she began to run as if she had only just realized how late it really was. Quickly she rushed down the cobble stairs, and turned the corner, disappearing from sight.

The street was left empty and dark, barely illuminated by the flickering street lamps and the light leaking from the window of an apartment over head. A mans silhouette could be seen in the glare, before he shut the shutters and turned off the light.

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><p><strong>Short but sweet. <strong>

**Wiht love,**

**the French Orchid**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay. I'm terribly sorry, I completely forgot about this story until I stumbled onto it a few minutes ago. Well here is chapter two.**

**I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters in it.**

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><p>It was the same routine every night, she would hurry down the street, and he after having waited for her to pass would close the shutters and turn off the light. It had been going on for months now. Ever since the first time the women had decided to use that particular street as a short cut one snowy night. It was totally by chance that he had seen her. He had gone to the window to close the shutter, and had glanced down.<p>

He had been completely struck by her beauty. But it wasn't just that. No, she was familiar. Eerily familiar. He was sure he knew her, but from where?

The next day, he had wait for her to pass and she did. And the next day and the day after and the one after that. Still, all he knew was that she had a government job, from a cell-phone conversation he had over heard her having, and that she pasted by the street as a short cur and was about his age. Slowly it became a routine for him; it was no longer a question of finding her identity. Of what it was, he was no longer sure of.

But, now months later, on that particular rainy night, he had recognized her. For the first time, he had clearly seen her face, wet and red from the cold fall day. He knew her, how could he not? After all she had always been there it seemed. The realization of just who she was exactly terrified him. How could he not have not known?

The man leaned his head against the cool glass of the window. He drew a deep shaky breath and sighed as memories flashed before his eyes.

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><p><strong>Again short but sweet. Who's the man?<strong>

**The French Orchid.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello! So this is the conclusion. It's longer than the others, but cutting it down would just be wrong.**

**I am not JKR. I wish I was, but sadly I am not.**

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><p>He remembered all of it. The times they spent together, their history. Their school years, first as innocent wide-eyed children, then and awkward teens trying to belong. Memories of them all sitting row by row. Him fighting for the spot in the row next to her and her friends.<p>

Oh. How cruel it had all been. The names he called her. Always taunting her with snarky remarks. Trying to get her to react or just slip up. Framing her or just getting her in detention was an other of his favourite pass times. He went down twice as had on her friends, making them take the fall for everything, and her taking it for them in return. He was dislusioned enough to hate her just because she was perfect in every way. Top grades, great friends, popular among everyone, never to harsh or demanding, bringing a kind and loving touch to every thing, and an air of school girl innocence topped off with plaid knee length skirts and mary-janes. Yet no matter how his attempts to make her life a living hell, he never managed to make her bleed. In the figurative form any way, there was that one time he tripped her in a lab and she cut herself with the scalpel she was holding.

At every confrontation she would just turn way with a pity filled smile grazing her lips. That had only enraged him every time and so he went after her like a serial killer. Shove, kick, tease, snark at, repeat it all over again the next day. Any information he could get he used against her. Until the pity faded completely and was repeated with hurt. Pure cold hateful hurt.

Well look at her now, he thought right righting himself. He ran his hand through his hair, flipping it out of his face before turning away from the window. What should he do he pondered as he stumbled his way to his kitchen.

He switched on the light and turning on the tap. Opening one of the cupboards over head he pulled out a glass and filled it. Cold water was definitely what he needed. He took a few sips before putting it down on the counter behind him/

How had he not noticed it was her? He should have known. She had wanted a human resources job, one where she could read and file and help people as much as she wanted. She had always been good at that. Oh god. How could he have let it get this far, now he was completely clueless on to what to do. If it was any one else, he would entre in small talk with them for about two weeks before even suggesting to go grab a coffee. Hun. This was very complicated indeed. After all he had attempted to make her life a living hell figuratively for six years. Wow the only remotely civil conversation they had ever shared as at graduation, and look how that had turned out. They were after all, sited beside each other and consumed quite a bit of alcohol. Plus it would be the last time they would ever see each other.

Groaning in frustration, he decided that this was ridicules. He didn't even know her anymore. Not that he had ever really known her, but that was beside the point. It had been over two decades; she had probably gotten over it by now. Then again it could still torment her in her sleep sever insecurities. Or he had a really big ego. He hadn't been that big of a deal in her life had he? If he apologized, expressing the regret he felt, would it even matter? Perhaps it would, perhaps it wouldn't, but she deserved that at least.

While that was settled, he thought as he patted down his pockets. He would go out tomorrow and tell her. Sure he might look like a creep or a stalker, but she would get that apology, even if it was nineteen years to late, under the street-lamp.

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><p><strong>There it is! I handed this in as an assignment a while back, and my teacher said it was terribly depressing. <strong>

**Review, please! Then I can improve!**

**_Love,_**

**_The French Orchid_**


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